


I'm in no rush to relive that pain

by outoftheashesrising



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4176372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outoftheashesrising/pseuds/outoftheashesrising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah was hit with a wave of recognition-she had seen this photo before, in Kendall Malone’s house. This was Mrs. S.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm in no rush to relive that pain

Sarah cracked open the dusty album, flipping pages that hadn’t been touched in decades. Found beneath a stack of equally neglected records, she wondered why she’d never seen it before-as a teen, Sarah had made a habit of exploring nearly every inch of the aging Toronto semi- even if she didn’t find any of the information about her origins she was sure Mrs S was hiding from her, she at least found a couple good places to hide her stash. But this was the first time she has laid eyes on the red leather album, and she was as curious as ever to see what sort of memories it held. 

An unsmiling infant, in black and white, populated the first page. Wrapped in blankets and laid in an old wooden cradle, the small child was looking directly at the camera with an unsettling gaze. The next page showed the same child, this time smiling in the arms of a tired yet happy young woman, presumably the infant’s mother. Sarah was hit with a wave of recognition-she had seen this photo before, in Kendall Malone’s house. This was Mrs. S.

Sarah began to examine each new photo with a sense of wonder-Sarah had known this woman for most of her life, but had never really given much thought to her past-she was far too focused on finding her own. 

The next page displayed a proud toddler, clad in a frilly dress holding a dog almost as big as her. Several pages followed of the young Siobhan riding a bike, perched at a piano, and posing with the pastor at her first communion. After Sarah finished observing what seemed like a very well-documented childhood, she was left with two pages of photographs featuring a stoic, adolescent Siobhan, dressed all in black, staring at the camera with a glare Sarah was all too familiar with. 

After studying each picture intently, Sarah finally reached the last page, blank, save an old envelope hastily fastened to the thick, dark cardboard. Careful not to rip the thin yellowed paper, Sarah opened the envelope and retrieved four polaroids, each carefully labeled and dated in black ink. 

The first featured a young man, long dark hair covering most of his face, focusing intently on the guitar in his lap. The caption read “John, 1976”. The next photo featured the same young man, clean shaven and dressed in a suit, with his arm around Siobhan, dressed in a simple white dress holding a bouquet of flowers. The caption read “John and Siobhan Sadler, March 13, 1977”. Sarah wondered who took the photo-with what little she knew about Siobhan’s relationship with her mother, it was doubtful that Kendall was there to capture her daughter’s special day. A friend, perhaps, maybe one of her many contacts. Sarah smiled at the thought of one of S’s gang of contract-killers and arms dealers acting as impromptu wedding photographer, snapping away as the new couple posed.

It wasn’t until she reached the third polaroid that Sarah began to wonder if she really should be invading her foster mother’s privacy, and if S would be less than pleased to find her daughter surrounded by many no doubt painful memories. The third photograph featured the same happy couple standing in the doorway of a small flat, John standing behind Siobhan, his hands resting on her stomach. Sarah felt sick to her stomach as she read the words “The Sadler Family, November 1977” written in black ink.

She started to return the photos back to their envelope, unable to continue her investigation, when she heard a soft, low voice utter “well I haven’t seen those in quite a while.”

“I am so sorry, S-I was being nosy and I shouldn’t have been looking in your stuff and I didn’t know-” “It’s okay, love,” the soothing Irish tone quickly put a stop to the young woman’s babbling. “I think it’s about time I stopped running from my past.”   
She sat down beside Sarah, and picked up the first polaroid of John and his guitar. “A gifted musician, my John was-taught me nearly everything I know about music.” Sarah smiled as she watched the older woman run her finger over the old photo, overtaken with memories she’d fought hard to repress.  
“We used to keep this photo on the fridge, right next to the bills,” Siobhan continued, picking up the second polaroid. “The suit belonged to his brother, it was too big on him but with the right stance you couldn’t really tell. Of course we didn’t have money for a proper dress, and mother wasn’t going to lend me hers, so I wore my church clothes and my aunt’s pearls.”   
Sarah sat with her eyes fixed on Siobhan, waiting for her to continue. “Looking back, we were just a couple of naive kids, ignorant to the world around us. But at the time it felt as if we were on top of the world,” she smiled sadly as she leaned to pick up an overturned photo. She froze as she gazed down at the smiling couple looking up at her, letting out a small sigh as she returned the photo to the pile.  
“I didn’t think we could do it, you know, start a family. We were too young, no money, living in a two room flat. But when I found out,” she paused, picking up the picture again, “when I found out that I was pregnant, John had nothing but confidence in the two of us. The three of us.” 

She closed her eyes, a futile attempt at holding back tears or a mechanism for stopping the vivid memories from returning Sarah wasn’t sure. She touched a hand to Siobhan’s shoulder as she opened her eyes and picked up the final polaroid. This one, unlike the others, had no caption. It didn’t need one. In faded colours a small grey headstone stood, a single red rose underlining the words “John Sadler, September 20 1958-January 16 1978”.

Sarah began to utter words of condolences years overdue, but stopped when Mrs. S began to speak, her eyes fixated on the small photograph.

“I was in the room when it happened, when he was killed. Mother had come to drop something off for the baby. A cap, I think. John had just come home from the bar, and I was angry with him for staying out so late. I was used to his temper- he was a gentle man, really, but the drink brings out the worst in all of us. Ma wasn’t to pleased with how he was speaking to me, so of course she started shouting at him, telling him he wasn’t fit to raise a child if this was how he acted.” 

Siobhan closed her eyes again, waiting a moment before continuing, “he lunged towards her. He wasn’t going to hurt her, he fought his battles with words, but he was a large man, intimidating. Ma didn’t think twice. It was too late before I realised what had happened. He was already on the floor, white as a sheet.”

“Siobhan”, Sarah started, trying to convey a mixture of sympathy, comfort and solidarity in a single word.

“I lost the child a week after the funeral, and ran away to my aunt’s the next day.” She gathers the photographs into a neat pile, and slips them back into the envelope. “And the rest, as they say, is history.” She gives Sarah a tender smile and squeezes her hand. She goes to stand up but Sarah grabs on to her arm, looking deep into her eyes.  
“I don’t say this enough, and god knows it wouldn’t have hurt to mention it once or twice when I was growing up, but I love you, mum.”  
Siobhan gives her a small smile and begins to turn away. “I know, love, I know.” She looks as though she was going to say something else, but thought the better of it and leaves the room, to do what Sarah isn’t sure.   
As she watches her mother walk away, Sarah closes the book and slowly slides it in between the stack of old records, where it will no doubt remain for another few decades. All except the faded polaroid of the smiling newlyweds, which she sticks on the refrigerator, right next to the bills.


End file.
